All That I've Got
by TheChloeEvans
Summary: Vince finds himself trapped in the partying lifestyle, stuck in a storm of alcohol and narcotic dependency. Howard fears the worst as he watches his best friend slowly begin to fall apart.  Drug Abuse, Alcohol abuse, violence,rape and eating disorders.
1. Prelude To A Fall

Howard remembered the first night Vince started to fall apart vividly.

He came in drunk.

Which was obviously, not an uncommon thing for the king of the mods. Howard often had worried about just how much Vince drank, but always shook it off. It seemed to make the electro poof happy, and wasn't that all that mattered? He had all of his cool and hip friends to look after him from the Camden night scene, right? Vince always came in with a grin on his face and a shine in his eye, which was certainly a lot more than Howard got out of drinking. The last time Howard had been drunk, he'd puked all over Mrs' Gideon's shoes and made out with his best friend. Howard shuddered at the memory. Of course, this wasn't the only time they'd made out, but that time on the roof certainly didn't count.

Even if Howard _had _confessed his unrequited love for the party animal.

No. There was something different this time, something disturbing.

Normally Vince would let himself in quietly and then collapse into the mass of duvets and pillows Howard would leave for him downstairs, aware that if a sober Vince struggled to walk up the stairs without tripping then a drunk one certainly wouldn't make it.

Not this time.

Howard was woken by Naboo shaking his shoulder, a confused look on the Shaman's angular face. Howard groaned.

"Urgh Naboolio what is it? A jazz maverick needs his beauty rest in order to be on top form, you know."

Naboo didn't roll his eyes at this, nor make some sort of sarcastic remark. He simply wore the same odd expression on his face, like he wasn't sure what was going on.

"It's…it's Vince, Howard."

At this, Howard shot up. Vince had always needed protection more than anyone else, he was just so god damn naive and trusting. The expressionless tone in Naboo's voice sent warning bells ringing through his skull.

"Where is he? I thought he was going out tonight? Is he hurt?"

"I….I don't know Howard. He's on the stairs."

Vince _never _tried to come upstairs after a night out.

And that was enough. Howard was out of bed in seconds, speeding towards the rickety old staircase like a northern bullet. He spotted his friend immediately, sprawled out halfway up, face down. The :explorer knelt by Vince's head, panic coursing through him.

"Vince? Vince! I need you to wake up little guy, I can't have you camped out here all night."

No response. Howard's horror only escalated. He gagged as Vince's odour hit him, a powerful mix of vodka, vomit and something else that smelt like…naughtiness.

"Naboo can you go wake up Bollo and tell him to carry Vince to his bed? I don't think I could trust myself carrying him when he's in this sort of state."

"Bollo already awake," Came the gruff response as Howard's hairy friend pushed past him and gently picked Noir up. He took him back upstairs and Howard nervously followed, looking in worry at the cold, dead look of Vince's face as Bollo placed him on the bed. Howard was immediately at Vince's side, giving his shoulder a light shake.

"Vince please. I really need you to wake up little fellow. For me."

Strangely enough Vince's eyes did open then, and he squinted at the light in the room, groaning.

"Vince! Oh thank god. What happened? You usually never get this bad."

".. 'oward I've….done….bad things."

The Jazz fusion player chuckled.

"I expect you have. What sorts of things Vince?""

Silence. And then…..

"By Howling Jimmy Jefferson, are you crying?"

The party prince said nothing, too choked on his own tears to reply.

"Shh, it's okay Vince. We won't get mad, I promise. Just tell us what's wrong."

It was at this moment Vince's eyes met Howard's, and Howard was struck by just how lost and desperate they looked. It was beyond unusual to see a sunshine kid in this sort of state, and it unnerved Howard greatly. Vince bit a trembling lip.

"I promishh'd you I wuddn't do anythin' 'gain. I…..i'm shorry 'oward."

Howard went still.

"Vince what are you talking about? Wouldn't do what?"

"..D..d-drugs."

There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the room. Everybody knew Vince's history; How years ago, before he'd gotten clean, he'd been this raging drug addict who was on the verge of suicide. That meeting Howard was the only thing that had convinced the young fashion icon to stop.

There were tears in Howard's eyes before he'd managed to compose himself enough to respond. There had always been drugs offered around on the Camden night scene, both Vince and Howard knew this. Vince was usually strong enough to resist.

"W….what did you take v-vince?"

His own voice was trembling now, but he didn't care. This was huge, bigger than Mrs. Gideon or leaving the Zoo, bigger than managing to overcome the chokes and doing that advert as a crab.

"F..few j-joints o' weed. But moshtlyy coke."

Howard squeezed his eyes shut, praying that this was all some sort of sick joke. A solitary tear ran down his inflamed cheek. Howard threw a quick glance at his best friend's nostrils, and they were indeed, red and swollen.

"Howard he's gonna spew everywhere in a minute, put this bowl under his chin. Alcohol and cocaine are NOT a good mix. Trust me, I've got experience with druggies."

Howard dutifully did as Naboo said. As if on cue, Vince vomited into the bowl, a nasty acidic yellow pouring from his mouth.

"Right this is no good. Howard, take him to the toilet, he's gonna be up all night. Bollo, take the bowl away."

Howard got the electo boy to his feet. Howard put Vince's arm around his shoulder, and practically dragged him over to the toilet, where Vince fell to his knees in front of it and grasped the sides of the bowl with trembling fingers, emptying the contents of his stomach into the shallow water. Tears leaked from the eccentric's eyes as he vomited, and all's Howard could do was rub his back, stroke his hair, and tell him everything was going to be okay.

At some point Vince fell to sleep, his head resting on the side of the bowl. However, shockingly. He continued to vomit.

"Come on Vince wake up!"

"J…jus wanna sleep," He slurred, eyes drooping.

"Vince no. Just puke a while longer? Then I'll wrap you in blankets like…..well, a pig in blankets, okay?"

He merely nodded, eyes rolling, as he continued to vomit.

Some time later, There was nothing left in him. Sensing that he was finally allowed to sleep, Vince collapsed into Howard's arms.

And for the first time that night, Howard allowed his emotions to get to him as he sobbed over the person he cared for the most.


	2. Washed Up Whore

It was a full day until Vince recovered enough to move.

The party goer had ignored Howard's pleas for information, shuffling with deadened eyes to the kettle, which he stuck on, already pulling out a Mick Jagger cup and filling it with more coffee than was socially acceptable. In spite of his inner turmoil, a smile tugged at the corner of Howard's lips. Some things never changed.

The kettle finished rattling with a resounding click, condensation creeping at the edges of the upstairs window. Vince wrapped his long bony fingers around the cup, stumbling to the sofa. He sighed, tilting back his head and closing his eyes. Naboo merely rolled his.

"Come 'ere Bollo, we don't need to waste our time with this dramatic pounce. Peacock Dreams is on."

"_Homo," _Bollo grunted in agreement, following his friend out of the room. All was silent then, save from the soft crackle of the radio in the background and the heavy laboured breathing of Vince's chest as it wheezed up and down. Howard bit his tongue, unsure of what to do. Would asking what happened aggravate his best friend, or reduce him to tears? How was Howard possibly meant to know the inner workings of Vince's mind when he was in a state like this?

_You've been in his mind before._

Howard scowled at the sound of his conscience.

**Yeah, but that was different. That was sunshine Vince. This, is…**

His inner thoughts trailed off as he realised he didn't have an adequate answer.

"Howard?" A voice croaked.

At first Howard didn't even consider looking up.

Because how could that soulless voice ever be Vince? Vince would never sound that miserable, or needy. Vince would be bursting with light. You would be able to _hear _the grin on his face, even before you saw it.

"Howard," It begged.

That voice was also too heartbreaking to ignore.

Howard stood, a fake smile on his lips, and walked over to Vince, sitting down on the sofa beside him. Vince's head rolled up again, and he opened his eyes.

To Howard's utter shock, they glistened with tears. For the second day in a row. The eccentric's bottom lip began to quiver.

Howard closed the gap between them in seconds, wrapping Vince in his arms. Vince clung to his sides desperately, sobbing into the hollow of his neck.

"I-i- -s-s-orry h-howard!"

The jazz enthusiast stroked his friend's hair slowly, at a loss as to what to do. He could feel his natural revulsion at being touched itching under his skin, but he ignored it for the sake of his distraught friend.

"Hey now little man, don't cry. I'm here for you."

He got a choked wail as a response. If anything, the sobs increased.

"Vince I know it's hard, but I need you to tell me what happened. Please? How can I help if you don't tell me what happened? Who made you feel like this? We'll see who's crying after monsoon Moon comes raining down on this cunt like….er…rain….."

Howard trailed off awkwardly as he realised he wasn't exactly helping matters. Vince sniffed, trying to control his voice and pull himself together.

"Y….y-you p-promise you won't laugh? You can't laugh Howard, I won't handle it if you do!"

Howard was extremely concerned now. Not only that his friend was an utter mess (though that was pretty taxing) but that Vince had somehow managed to lose the un-denying trust he'd always had for his partner in crime. It was this, and other little things, that were beginning to unnerve Howard beyond his liking.

"As if I could laugh at you in this state. Go on, tell me what's wrong."

Vince took a deep breath, detaching himself from Howard, wiping the back of his hand across his nose. Vince frowned.

Across his pale skin, a smudge of scarlet.

"Howard my nose is bleedi-…"

Vince froze as he realised why, guilt immediately filling him. Howard had to restrain himself for shouting at Vince for taking drugs.

Again.

Vince steadied himself.

"I…okay. When I was at t-the club, dancin' and stuff, everyone was surrounding me as usual. I had a bit too much to drink, got a bit…silly. There was this….guy there who was interested in…."

It was at this moment when Vince suddenly paused, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, an onslaught of blurred pictures running through his mind. When he opened them again, he saw that the worried look in Howard's eyes had, if anything, gotten worse.

"He was pretty hot, and I'd never really been with a guy in that way before. Only kisses and BJ's, y'know? Not…THAT. So I decided I'd t-try it. We went to his place, But I felt uncomfortable, wanted to call it off. He wouldn't let me leave. He….he p-pinned me d-d-down and d-did things to me."

Vince took a breath, nervously observing Howard. His friend was completely blank. Not knowing if that was a good sign or not, Vince pressed on.

"After he was…. Finished with me, I managed to get out of his flat. I just felt so…wrong. Y'know? All weak and pathetic. Weak and pathetic isn't how Vince Noir should be. I felt like it was my fault… I wanted to be happy again. So I went 'round the back of Camden market and scored some coke. Got into another club, did some weed with Leroy, did the coke, got even more wasted. Leroy made me come back after a while, cus' I couldn't walk I was so hammered. He ordered me a cab and I came back here. That's it."

Howard stared at Vince. Vince stared at Howard. An awkward silence enveloped the pair.

"Oh god little man. I'm so so-"

"Don't."

Howard looked at his friend with wide, concerned eyes.

"Don't?"

"I love you an' all 'oward, but please. Don't give me sympathy. It just makes me feel like…there's something wrong with me."

Vince paused, an uncertain smile creeping onto his face.

"But there's nothing wrong with me, is there?"

"Wait, what?"

Howard was flustered. He couldn't deal with all of these sudden mood changes.

"I'm….."

Vince trailed off, rising to his feet with shaky legs and walking to the bathroom, sweeping a fringe of black hair out of his face. A nervous Howard followed.

Vince looked at himself, smile fading a little. He swallowed, taking a deep breath, observing his reflection in the dimly lit mirror.

"…._Beautiful."_

He frowned at his reflection.

"Or at least, I can be. I can make myself beautiful. I _will_ be beautiful. What I am now is a washed up, fat mess. Howard, I'm gonna take a shower, 'kay? I feel so icky, ugh. You must hate having to see me in this state, I've never looked so ugly in my life. Make sure Naboo and Bollo don't come up while I'm in the shower, yeah? Love ya."

And with a half-hearted kiss on his cheek, Vince left Howard hanging, closing the bathroom door in his face.

Howard however, couldn't just shower his thoughts away. Vince had called himself ugly and washed up many times when hung over, and although Howard would have never been so harsh as to say it, he didn't look that good after a night out on the town. Who would?

But Vince had never, ever, called himself fat.

_Pulsating muscles throbbed, stretched and groaned as they were put through their paces. Flecks of blood found themselves dotted in neat little patterns on the rock star's skin, battle wounds of the ugliest sort. The victim sobbed, throat raw from screaming, as he was destroyed from the inside out. Dirty fat sausages danced across the victim's skin, teasing and pulling, feeling and exploring. Sweat and other substances dripped from greedy lips, cracked and swollen folds that brutally assaulted the desert flower. Rotten teeth sunk into skin, drawing blood and sinews alike._

"_Come on Boy, don't leave me hangin," a voice leered, gaining a pained sob in response._

_After an eternity of pain, the intruder finished with his handiwork, and stood to inspect the bloody mess below him. Spit dribbled down a bloated chin, dropping onto the broken boy below._

"_Get the fuck up, whore!"_

_No response, save from a raspy breath that shook out something along the lines of, "I can't."_

_This angered the violator. He picked up the skinny boy by the hair, jolting his neck up painfully._

"_There, that wasn't so 'ard was it? Fuckin' hell, you're heavy. I should really stop pickin' up the **FAT **ones."_

_The victim was thrown roughly to the floor._

_He wouldn't get up for several hours, by which time, his captor would have already left. _


	3. Leave Me With Your Complications

A haze surrounded Vince as he stepped carefully from the shower, mist and vapour already clogging up the one tiny window and the bathroom mirror, which Vince watched with unease as he approached it. He could just see the vague figure of himself through the thick layer of condensation, and hastily picked up a nearby towel and wiped the little droplets of water away.

What he saw horrified him.

Now that the foundation and blusher had been cleansed from his skin, Vince was able to see just how bad his punishment had been.

A thin trail of black bruises marked the angular line of his left cheekbone, an ugly smear across his face serving as a horrid reminder. His right eye was a mess of purple blotches, and it pained Vince to keep it open. His neck was in a similar state: large blackened handprints circled around it. Vince choked, feeling phantom hands restrict his breathing once again. It was sometime before he was able to regain his breath enough to cringe at his torso, which was considerably worse than any other body part.

It was his hips, mostly. Large angry cuts embedded into his skin from fingernails, deep welts that disfigured his innocent skin. Bruises dotted the inside of his skinny thighs, handprints from slaps and grabs. His stomach was in a similar state, discoloured and scratched.

All in all, Vince deduced that he was ugly.

He sighed, putting a feminine hand on his hip, fingers tracing his abuse. Not being able to stand the sight of his lower half already, Vince hastily tied a towel around his waist.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted a cookie that Howard must have shoved under the door for him, knowing that he hadn't eaten in days. Rainbow smarties. His favourite. For a second Vince forgot himself, reached forwards and ate it, a smile on his face that Howard actually cared enough to remember little things like that.

His eyes found their way back to the mirror, back to the crumbs on his fingers.

_It doesn't have to be this way. I can be beautiful. But how can I be beautiful if I'm doing this?_

He thought back to the coffee he'd had this morning. How many sugars had he put in it, how much milk? How many empty calories would they have? How many calories would a fatty fucking rainbow cookie have?

Before he'd made the conscious decision, Vince was on his knees before the toilet.

With shaking hands, he shoved a finger roughly down his throat. The first few times he gagged, nothing came up. However after a while, a torrent of vomit gushed from the star's throat. Bitter tears stung at his eyes.

A wall apart from the troubled mod, Howard Moon had gone downstairs to pull across the "Sorry, we're closed" sign on the shop window, knowing that without Vince in top form there was no point in even opening. He heard nothing of his friends' struggles. Neither did Bollo, who was down in the storeroom collecting Naboo's elaborate weed smoking device.

However, the shaman remained upstairs. His pointy features narrowed down into a frown as he heard the sound of retching from the bathroom. Realisation suddenly hit him, and Naboo sighed.

"What are you doing to yourself Vince," He muttered under his breath. Instead of neglecting the situation like he was tempted to, Naboo found himself getting up and slowly pushing open the bathroom door. Vince hadn't even noticed; he was too busy with his sickening answer to his problems to even notice Naboo slip into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it. Vince _never _locked the door, because….well, he'd never been allowed. Naboo had made it clear that he wouldn't have Vince doing hard drugs when he moved in. The shaman wasn't particularly bothered about any other drug, hell; he himself was a partaker in most of them. But he drew the line at Heroin.

Needless to say, Naboo had been a little bit paranoid when Vince Noir, ex-heroin addict, had come under his employment. He loved Vince as a mate, he was a great guy. But years of experience with Vince had proven to Naboo that no matter what, he ALWAYS went back on his word. Which was why Naboo had insisted that Vince had to be looked after at all times.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Naboo tapped the still-puking electro boy on the shoulder. Vince yelped, jumping to his feet in surprise and stumbling back a little. Almost immediately, his eyes flashed with guilt.

"For fuck sake Vince, what the h-…..Oh my god. What the fuck happened to you?"

Vince's guilt face turned to one of hurt in seconds, then to one of anger.

"Oh I'm sorry Naboo, I know I'm fucking hideous, you don't need to point out the obvious."

Naboo rolled his eyes.

"Stop being so melodramatic, you know what I meant. How did you get so beat up? Bum bum times with Howard get a little too rough?"

Suddenly, Vince's tough shell broke. He whimpered, backing away from Naboo as if the shaman planned to strike him down. Naboo was shocked at the look of raw panic on his friend's face.

He took a moment to actually _look _at the troubled man before him.

Bites. Scratches. Slaps. All in intimate areas. Even with the towel wrapped around his waist, Naboo could still see the deep welts that marked his hips.

"Oh God Vince…were you…..?"

Vince glared at him.

"Yes, I was fucking raped. Happy?"

What a thing to say. As if anyone could be satisfied by news like this.

"I….of course not you fucking moron! But why the fuck was a skinny little bitch like you making himself sick?"

Vinced laughed, as if the answer was obvious.

"I'm fat, aren't I? Fat asses need to go on diets."

"Diets don't entail starving yourself, you alabaster retard! Wait until Howard hears about this."

Vince froze.

"You wouldn't."

"I'm doing it right now," Naboo replied, going to the door. A frantic Vince pulled on his arm, stopping him.

"Naboo you can't! You know how much he'll worry. I'll stop, yeah? Just don't tell him."

The shaman sighed.

"Fine. But you better stop with this you fucktard, cus' I'm not letting you destroy yourself again."

Naboo lowered his voice.

"And on another note, you can mess around with drugs all you like. But if I ever even see a hint of heroin in your eyes again, I'm kicking you out. I mean it."

Vince's face darkened.

"That's not me anymore Naboo, that Vince is long dead. I thought you knew that."

Naboo gave Vince a grim smile.

"Well, it's you, isn't it? We can never be too sure."


	4. Nowhere To Go

The next day, Vince was no longer a beaten, disenchanted freak.

He was a _prince. _

A glorious smile lit up his smooth, shining features as he observed his handiwork in the mirror.

Layers and layers of ivory foundation had managed to conceal pretty much all of his cuts and bruises, and now his skin was immaculately pale. Thick black liquid eyeliner coated his eyes, shockingly bright yellow eye shadow making a pair of dazzling blue eyes somehow shine even brighter.

On his feet, a pair of silver Chelsea boots from Camden market complimented his metallic belt perfectly. Black, tight fitting leather trousers covered his legs, matching his studded leather jacket. On his torso, a bright yellow, ripped sex pistols t-shirt. Bollo had fondly named it "trendy homo punk", which could only make Vince's heart swell with pride.

Howard however, wasn't so approving.

At first he looked his friend up and down in confusion.

"V…..Vince? Why are you all dressed up?"

He grinned, ruffling Howard's hair. Howard cringed at the touch.

"I've only gone and got a date with a girl, haven't i? Well, I saw a date, more like a gathering with me, Pete and her. Aww you should see her Howard, she's brilliant! Pete told me a couple of weeks ago when him and I were doi-er, at a….Clockwork Orange gig together."

Howard frowned at the obvious lie.

"Why don't you just tell me the truth? And who the heck is Pete, anyway?

Vince chuckled nervously.

"I don't get what you're on with."

Howard sighed.

"Clockwork Orange broke up a year ago. Even I'M not naive enough not to know that. You were clearly out doing something bad with someone I'll hate."

Oddly, the Jazz maverick chuckled at himself then.

"At least it wasn't someone like Pete Doherty, eh?"

At this, Vince bit his lip. Howard's eyes widened in shock.

"No! Oh god Vince please tell me it wasn't?"

"He's not even that bad Howard! You don't know what he's like, you've never met him!"

"He's a junkie Vince! A good for nothing, waste of space junkie."

Howard regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

The look on Vince's face nearly tore him apart. It wasn't the immediate disgust that threw Howard off, it was the look of absolute betrayal that destroyed him.

"Is….is that all I was to you back then Howard? A waste of space?"

"Vince no! I didn't mea-"

"Fuck off Howard. I don't need you, right? I don't give a shit about you. Fuck off."

Howard watched in shock as his best friend stormed out of the shop, wondering how his mood had dramatically flipped so completely in such a small amount of time. There was definitely something wrong.

From the back of the shop, a gruff voice said quietly,

"_I've got a bad feeling about this."_

Vince was angry.

He tried to ignore the fact that tears blinded him as he stormed down the street, tried to ignore the heavy thud of his heart. It wasn't the fact that Howard had insulted Pete; Vince really didn't care about Pete, or anyone else, at all. It was the fact that Howard could have been so dismissive of Vince, so quick to treat him like a thoughtless, faceless dolly bird.

"_I'm not stupid," _He told himself, sniffling.

Sure, he wasn't exactly intelligent. But he was sick of the way everyone treated him like he was just a pretty face, like he didn't actually have any emotions.

He caught a glimpse of reflection in the window of a shop, a fleeting glance of colourful dress and ridiculous hair.

What if Howard was right though?

_What if they all were?_

Vince gazed uneasily at his reflection, unsure of why they even called him a "pretty face". Because there was clearly nothing pretty about his face. He looked like a fat, ugly troll. That was why he'd dressed up in weird clothes for so long, had a faux self confidence that obviously got on Howard's nerves. No wonder the Jazzy freak hated him.

"I'm the real freak; there's nothing wrong with Howard."

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. If he couldn't be normal in comparison to Howard, then how on earth would any of his vacuous, thin, beautiful friends ever accept him? Why would they want an obese weirdo like Vince?

Vince winced, noticing how tight this once baggy t-shirt was on him. Granted, it had only been baggy when he was 12, but still. It meant that he'd gotten fat.

Even that…..monster had picked up on it.

Vince laughed in a hollow manner. In a way, he should have been thanking his rapist. Without his…. Words of encouragement, Vince would have never known just how obese he was.

Finally managing to pull his gaze away from his reflection, Vince looked at where he was and realised, with some irony, that he'd wound up in the back alley where he'd scored his coke the other night. A lifetime of debauchery and erroneous morals had seeped into his bones, so as a result of this Vince automatically knew that if he turned the corner Vinnie Wright would be there, ready and waiting with something that would help him to forget the world.

But Vince didn't want drugs. He wanted a friend who understood what he was going through, even if he didn't understand himself. Sighing, he turned back, heading for the nearest coffee house.


	5. Going Down

Time passed in the Nabootique, as time often does. Vince's semi-famous status kept a steady flow of customers coming through the door, Camden trendies who were all too keen on learning the ins and outs of Vince's life. Noir had being going out a lot more, possibly every two or three days now, and the crowds he circled with just seemed to get more and more famous. He'd managed to work himself up a vicious ladder, from producers and mixers to the very heart and soul of the Camden night life; musicians.

His group had gone from bands like Robots In Disguise and IAMX, to Kasabian, Courtney Love and Russell Brand. These newcomers to Vince's life frequently passed in and out of the Nabootique, and Howard couldn't stand a single one of them. Especially now that he…..knew.

The jazz maverick hadn't known most of these superficial titboxes, so he'd used good ol' wikipedia to find out facts about them.

What he'd found hadn't exactly pleased him. In fact, it'd left him with an awful feeling in his stomach, like he was going to vomit.

Kasabian: All members frequent weed users, plus other drugs Howard wasn't sure about.

Courtney Love: Heroin addict and alcoholic.

Russell Brand: Suicidal, alcoholic, sex addicted, mentally ill heroin junkie.

And that was just three of the vagabonds he associated with. What were the others going to be like? What sort of sordid affairs would they continue to drag Vince into again and again?

Speaking of Vince….

Howard and he had never really made up since their little argument. Their speech was reduced to polite gestures and murmurs, though besides from that they spent as much time apart as possible. Which was surprisingly painful for Howard, considering he always told himself that he didn't need anyone and anything but jazz to make him happy. Due to all of these factors, and some deep rooted panic Howard wasn't sure about, the maverick was constantly on edge.

It was also why he was sat up watching the door at 4AM with bleary eyes, occasionally flickering to the clock to notice with dissatisfaction that only another minute had passed since his last glance.

Across town, Vince was falling apart.

As the final members of the party staggered out of the club, and after much deliberating, they decided to go and find some food. The sinners left the comfort of the bright main streets, and the group (11 strong if Vince could count correctly in this state) trudged on in an awkward crowd forwards. It was slightly shambolic. No one wanted to walk up front, but no one wanted to be left behind, so the group formed some sort of squashed egg shape with everyone trying not to trip over another member's feet.

Leroy said it to Vince in a quiet, anxious voice, walking ahead of the rest of the meet up to join Vince's side. The others new not of the electro boy's misdemeanours, And he really doubted Leroy knew the severity of what he had done. Even Vince himself, at that point. It touched Vince that someone he'd only met up with a few times before; practically a stranger, in fact, actually cared. Vince didn't even care, and it was about him.

"So are you… okay?"

Vince knew Leroy wasn't talking about today. He was talking about the downwards spiral in which Vince's pathetic little life had taken, and they both knew it. Did he really think Vince was going to start discussing it in front of a group of what were practically strangers? And his closest thing to a friend at the back, who was staring at the two of them curiously from the back of the pack? Given what they'd discussed just earlier that week via text, it was pretty clear that Vince was not okay.

Vince pretended that his question shocked him, though it didn't. Leroy had been staring at him in an off hand, worried sort of way ever since he'd arrived. As Vince has joked about the man who had 'roughed him up' (no one but Leroy knew about the rape) being locked in every single police van Vince had seen, Leroy's face had pulled into some sort of odd grimace, somewhere between disgust and pity as he knew that the person Vince was referring to was actually the person who had started it all. It was funny, after they'd swapped life stories, seeing him. Because of the thing's he'd told Vince, Vince found myself judging his mannerisms, watching his every step to see if he could find some sort of evidence to what Leroy had said. And Vince did. But he was too much of a coward to mention it. Maybe a good person would have said something. Vince was not a good person.

It amazed Vince just how many people were still convinced he was this nice little kid. They don't seem to realise that something…snapped inside his head a few years ago, and now everything Vince sees is drowned in his loathing for…. himself. Everything, nothing, He didn't know! That wasn't the point. He liked to think of his insides as some sort of pitch black hell. You couldn't see the creatures inside the black fog of his heart, but you could hear their screams. You could feel the way the monsters in his head scratched at Vince's insides, desperate for escape. But you never saw their true faces. Maybe a glimpse of murderous intent behind Vince's eyes, he didn't know. Vince had gotten pretty good at controlling them. That's why his friends thought he'd stopped 'forgetting' to take his medication.

Though sometimes, it all became too much.

And sometimes, he released them.

Then everything's just so….._Alive. _Vince was alive, they're alive. He can see them, actually see them. They looked like the bottom of another bottle of vodka. They smelt like the sick inside another toilet in another house where he'd never met the inhabitants_. _They sound like the almost childlike taunts of, _"Come on Vince. Just another line. I thought I made you better than this."_

Some nights, like this night, Vince just couldn't take it. No matter how far away the monsters were, no matter how much he'd taken or how much Vince had been prompted, he couldn't do anymore. And like every night in this week, when Vince was already on his knees, He'd crash out onto the fucking ugly green carpet of his room, chocking on vomit and his own tears because he knows he can't live with this, or without it. Then, just before he passes out for yet another night that week, Vince hears…..

_I thought you could take more than this before you burnt out. How disappointing."_

Vince looked at Leroy blankly. He realised Leroy had asked him a question before his thought had trailed off.

"I'm fine."

He looked back at the rest of the nameless faces he'd surrounded himself with and sighed. What was the point? He broke away from the main group, stumbling a little in his heeled boots.

"Vince!"

He turned back. Leroy looked unsettled.

"Vince….where are you going man?"

Vince stared, eyes watering.

"I don't know."

And then he was gone.


End file.
